


Maybe I'm Waking Up Today

by onebatch2batch



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Prompt, confession of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 03:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13627845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebatch2batch/pseuds/onebatch2batch
Summary: Karen starts dating, and Frank has a hard time coping. Post-TPS.





	Maybe I'm Waking Up Today

**Author's Note:**

> anon prompted 98. “I can’t watch you with someone else. It’s tearing me apart.”
> 
> Title from I'll Be Good - Jaymes Young

Above all else, Frank Castle values friendship. When he lost his family, the only thing that kept him going was vengeance—and the only thing that pulled him out was friendship. He knows he’s lucky, the man that he is, to have the friends that he does. It still surprises him, sometimes, if he really starts to think about it—but had he not had David, or Curtis, or Sarah, or Karen…there was no way he would have kept going. They kept him alert. Kept him alive. He’s taken bullets for them, killed for them, faced bombs for them. All his personal safety goes out the window when his friends are in danger.

This doesn’t just apply to the life-threatening, though; it applies to the mundane, as well. When Sarah and David are working through something, need to talk shit through, he gives that to them. He takes the kids to a movie and lets them have the house to themselves. When Curtis asks him to speak in group, Frank soldiers through the uncertainty and pain and speaks, if only to show Curt he’s trying. Hell, when Madani calls him up and asks him where he’s left a body or two, he’s happy to oblige, if it saves her the headache. So when he calls up Karen and she sends him straight to voicemail, he begins to worry. And when she doesn’t call back like usual, he starts to panic. And when he calls again and she still doesn’t answer, he tries another route. 

 _Everything okay?_ He texts, then stares at the phone like it will make the reply come faster. It’s five minutes before she replies:

**On a date. U hurt?**

All of the air comes whooshing out of his lungs. Frank stares at her text and feels an uncomfortable pinching in his chest. It’s not unlike the feeling of Gunner's arrow sticking out of his flesh, all those months ago. His thumb hovers over the keyboard, unsure, but he can’t think of anything to say other than _have a good time_. The sentiment feels insincere and he shoves his phone in his pocket before he can see her reply.

He didn’t know she was dating, although he should have guessed. Their moment in the elevator had been months ago and since then, the careful platonic distance he’s kept between them must have struck a cord. It’s none of his business anyway—and besides, he wants her to be happy. She’s his friend, and she _deserves_ to be happy with whatever punk she’s seeing.

He repeats that in his head, willing it to be true, even as his apartment grows darker and lonelier around him.

 

\--

 

Karen starts dating someone named Thomas, a mutual friend of her coworker’s, and it throws Frank out of whack. He isn’t necessarily a creature of habit—in fact, he would say he’s a very adaptive man. When he and Karen’s tri-weekly get togethers get cut to bi-weekly, he adapts. When he shows up at her work with coffee, she gets texts from someone that makes her face light up, and he adapts. And when she starts calling on Thomas to fix things around her apartment instead of Frank, he tells himself that it gives him more time to read, or go to the gym.

He’s not jealous. Or at least, that’s what he tries to tell himself.

This goes on for nearly a month; Karen spends more and more time without him, and he feels the absence of her like a wound. He begins to draw away from her, letting her texts sit unanswered, and her calls go to voicemail. Whenever he does pick up, she talks until he can’t bear hearing about how _Thomas finally fixed the faucet in the bathroom_ or _Thomas and I went to that Thai place_ or _I told Thomas he should try that coffee shop we like_. He knows she’s not trying to upset him on purpose—why would she be? She is his friend, and he’s hers, and friends talk about how their dates go. It’s normal, and he listens until he has to make up an excuse and hangs up before she can say goodbye. Before he can tell her what he really wants to say.

On the fourth week, Frank finds himself in group with Curtis and stares at the floor, there but not there, his silent phone burning a hole in his pocket. Before he realizes it, the hour is up and he’s alone with Curtis who is staring at him, brows drawn together.

“What’s going on, Frank?”

Frank stands and begins to fold up chairs, hanging them one by one. The church basement smells of dusty tile and old coffee; he focuses on that and doesn’t look over. “Nothin’,” he mutters. His foul mood is growing by the minute.

“Sure.” Curtis doesn’t move from his chair. His hand goes to his leg and he rubs it habitually, absently. It’s something he does when he’s trying to place his next words carefully. Frank waits it out until his stare gets too heavy on his back.

“ _What_ , Curt.”

“Nothing—at least, according to you. Never mind the hole you glared through the floor all group. Or how you’ve been checking your phone every couple minutes for the last hour.” Curtis pauses, like he’s not sure how to proceed. “…is this another Punisher thing?”

Frank rolls his eyes and turns to look at Curtis. “You know it ain’t.”

“Had to ask. Is it Karen?”

Her name gives him pause, and it’s just long enough for the understanding to cross Curtis’ face. He leans back and nods slowly. “She okay? What happened?”

Frank has talked about Karen to Curtis before. She comes up when he talks in group—she’s one of the few people in his life that he simultaneously tries to keep secret, as well as someone he’s unable to keep himself talking about. HE thinks for a split second about telling Curt to shove it, or maybe tell him his mood isn’t about Karen, but Curtis has never done anything to deserve his ire. He crosses his arms and stares at the wall, trying to decide how to bring it up. When he speaks, he hopes he doesn’t sound as petulant as he feels. “…she’s, uh….dating.”

His words hand in the air; Curtis stares at him without judgment, forehead creasing. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

“Not shit.” Frank lets out a sigh and pushes back his hair—it’s getting much longer than his usual, but Karen had mentioned that she liked it one day and he hasn’t had the heart to cut it. “It’s none of my business.”

He feels his heckles raise at the incredulous look on Curtis’ face, but it’s true. Whoever Karen is dating and whatever she does with her free time isn’t any of his business. There has been plenty of opportunity for her to ask her out, for him to tell her what she really means to him, but he hasn’t. He has to live with that. And besides, he’s The Punisher—he couldn’t provide her with any semblance of a normal relationship, even if he tried. He’s too damaged, too broken. She should be dating someone normal, someone boring, someone worth her time.

“Frank,” Curtis sighs, “That’s a load of bullshit, and you know it.”

“It ain’t bullshit, Curt. It’s true. I had--…I had an opportunity and I didn’t take it. I gotta live with that.”

Curtis sits back and frowns at him. “How long you going to keep punishing yourself, man? You think—you think Maria would let you get away with this self-sacrificing shit? Karen has been on your team before you even had a team. Is this guy even serious?”

“Dunno. Haven’t asked.” Frank’s finger taps on his leg restlessly. If he’s being honest, he’s done everything to keep their conversations short, and limited to safe topics. It’s killing him, not being fully there for her, but he knows it’s for the best. When it comes to her, he can’t (and won’t) lie. She’ll know as soon as he opens his mouth.

Curtis stands and picks up his chair, letting out a small breath. ”You and I both know that if you got your head out of your ass, something good might actually happen to you. And I know that’s scary but Frank—you deserve to be happy.” He pauses, then looks over with a frown. “And I know you think different, but you do. And so does she. Doesn’t she?”

 _Of course she does,_ Frank thinks, looking away. “Me ‘n happiness don’t mix well, Curt.”

“You could,” he shoots back, and then turns to pour out the coffee carafes, leaving Frank to his thoughts.

 

\--

 

It’s another two days before Frank sees Karen again. All the pent up energy is making him restless and a little reckless, so he goes out and bloodies his fists. Takes down a couple criminals, gets a little stab wound in the process. He knows for a fact Karen’s out tonight, and her apartment is closer, so he jimmies the lock on her window and goes for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink, tossing her shirt on the floor.

He’s halfway through threading the stitching needle when he hears the lock, and the familiar sound of Karen’s laughter through the front door. “ _Thomas, come on. No, really, I wish I could stay out. I have so much work to do.”_

Frank pauses, muscles clenching in apprehension, fists clenching on the counter. The needle pricks his finger and he curses, letting it drop onto the sink. Karen sounds so fuckin’ happy, so carefree, and here he is ruining her night without even meaning to. How is she going to explain the Punisher bleeding all over her bathroom tile like he’s done it a million times? (He has.) He feels like a creep, sitting here listening to their private conversation.

There’s a man’s voice— _Thomas_ —pleading through laughter, _You’re always workin’ babe. Just come over. Dinner was nice, right? What about…dessert?_

Frank lets out a slow breath, trying to clear the red from his vision. He hears the door open and then Karen’s pause as she sees the open window in the living room. Abruptly, there’s a shuffle and Thomas’ surprised grunt, like she’s turned and shoved him back. _Ow, Kare, what the hell was that?_

“You know,” she says quickly, and to anyone else she would sound normal, but Frank hears the lilt of panic in her voice, “I really need to work. Please respect that, okay? I’ll see you later—thank you for dinner.”

There’s some confused sputtering, and then the door closes and the lock turns.

Her journey from the front door to the bathroom seems to take an eternity. He grips the sides of the sink and stares at the drain, tense. Her keys drop onto the coffee table; her shoes are kicked off; her soft footsteps get closer and closer until there’s a rustle of fabric behind him.

“Frank,” Karen sighs. “What happened?”

He completely underestimated how much he missed her. It hits him like a ton of bricks as he glances up into the mirror, meeting her eyes over his shoulder. She looks beautiful, as always—her done up, maroon dress hugging her frame, eyes dark with worry. Worry for him. He drops his eyes, suddenly bashful, suddenly ashamed. “Just a little knife,” he mutters. “I just—you were closer and—“

“Come here, give it.” She steps into the bathroom, putting a hand on his bare shoulder. He jumps, jarred, and she gives him a bemused look. “Hey, Frank, it’s just me, okay? Let me stitch you up.”

He finds himself seated on the edge of the bathtub as she bends over his side and starts working, a small frown on her lips. The silence is nearly stifling; he feels his chest constrict at the subtle smell of her perfume, at the chill of her hands on his skin. The cut is under his ribs, shallow enough that he’ll only need a couple stitches, but it still hurts like a bitch. Go figure—the amount of times he’s been shot at, stabbed, cut, beaten, you’d think the pain wouldn’t register. It always does.

“So,” Karen says after the first stitch is finished, “I haven’t heard much from you lately. Everything okay?”

He’s staring forward at a stain on the wall, but he can see the subtle tilt of her head as she looks at the expression on his face. Searching for something. Her voice is even, but he can tell she’s hurt by his distance. Frank nods slowly and tries to find something neutral to say in response; he can’t. He changes topics before he can force out a lie. “Sorry to interrupt your date.”

“Oh.” Karen frowns, turning to begin the next stitch. “I did really have work to do, he was just being insistent.”

Frank’s jaw clenches. “Sorry to interrupt work, then.”

She finishes the stitch and then lifts her head to squint at him, frowning. He can see it from the corner of his eye, but he waits it out without comment. It seems like forever that she stares at him like this, puzzled, before she leans forward and sets the needle on the counter. Then she sits back and frowns at him some more. “What’s going on with you, Frank?”

He stands and steps towards the sink, rifling through the first aid kit for gauze. The pain in his side is sharp and he grimaces as his movements pull at his fresh stitches. He feels the tension between them just as much as he does the pain; it sets him on edge. He feels the words bubbling up inside him, begging to be spoken. It takes everything in him to mutter out _“I’m fine”_ but that seems to be the wrong answer because she’s at his side in a moment, eyes flashing angrily in the mirror.

“Don’t you _fine_ me. We don’t lie to each other, remember?”

He tries to temper his anger, but the pain and the frustration threatens to overwhelm him. He slams the lid of the first aid kit and sees her flinch in the reflection. “You wanna know what’s wrong?” he asks, fighting to keep his voice low. “I can’t watch you with someone else, Karen. It’s fuckin’ tearin’ me apart.”

He could get shot a hundred times, get ten million stitches, a million stab wounds, but the shocked look on her face hurts him more than any physical wound ever could. He stalks out of the bathroom and paces the length of the living room. He focuses on breathing, feels the panic creeping up his spine, and the pressure building behind his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her, and here he is doing exactly that. She follows him, puts a hand on his chest placatingly. Her slim fingers are still covered in his blood, and it makes him sick to look at.

“Frank,” she pleads once his eyes meet hers, “What does that mean?”

“What do you think, Karen? It means I’m—I…you’re with him, yeah? And I just—I tried to stay away, but I miss you all the fuckin’ time and…it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It just—wasn’t. But--…” The words are starting to get all jumbled up, and he snaps his mouth shut, frustrated. This is going nowhere fast, and he’s just upsetting her more. He should have never come. “I need to go.”

“Frank Castle, if you don’t sit down and shut up for a second, I’m going to scream.” Karen’s voice is strong, but her hands shake when she pushes him towards the couch. “And you’re not even wearing a shirt.”

He looks down, then scoffs and sits where she directs, watching her warily. Angry Karen is an enigma—he never knows how she’s going to react, or what she’ll do. Right now, she looks down at her hands and seems to realize they’re covered in blood. “I need to wash my hands. Don’t move.”

He doesn’t. He puts his head in his hands and tries to think of a way to get out of explaining himself. From the bathroom he can hear her washing her hands thoroughly, and then rustled fabric as she changes into her pajamas. When she comes back, her hair is down and make up is off, and she looks much calmer. She steps into the kitchen and makes a pot of coffee, and then once the machine has sputtered to life, she walks over and takes a seat next to him.

“Okay,” she starts slowly, “I need to know three things.”

Her statement surprises him; he raises his eyebrows. His finger taps. “Okay.”

“First, are you angry with me?”

“No.”

“Fine. Second, are you hurt anywhere else?”

Frank furrows his brows. “…no.”

“Good. Third, what bothers you about me dating Thomas?”

That one gives him pause. He rocks forward, places his hands on his knees and looks away. He knows he can’t lie to her, not about this, but he wants to. He wants to make this as easy as possible for her, but he’s selfish too. There’s a small part of him that’s both terrified and desperate to know what she’d think about how he really feels. The breath he pulls in isn’t nearly as steadying as he wants. “I stayed away because…you deserve to be happy.”

Karen watches him with a confused frown. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Frank runs a hand through his head. Even with Maria, he hadn’t acted like this much of an asshole. With Karen, it feels like every word he speaks makes him less worthy of even her friendship, let alone anything more than that. Maybe this needs to happen—he needs to tell her the truth, scare her away. Maybe that’s what is best. He turns to look at her and swallows hard. “It bothers me because you--…because I….love you.” The words come out stilted; he says them and as much as he hopes it scares her, it scares him too. Time slows down a little as he watches the shock shutter across her features. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth and her eyes widen.

“Oh,” she breathes, muffled. She lowers her hand and blinks slowly. “…that…that answers my question.”

“I’m not expectin’ anythin’ from it.” He clears his throat and stares down at his hands. “I wasn’t gonna tell you but…”

“No, I’m glad you did.” Karen hesitates, then reaches over and takes his hand in hers. “You’re my best friend, Frank,” she says quietly. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? Why did you let me think you were angry with me?”

God, this woman; she could ask the world of him and he’d kill himself to do it. He lifts a shoulder and stares down at their intertwined fingers with an ache in his chest. “I’m sorry for that. But I can’t give you what you deserve.”

“And what do I deserve?”

Frank sneaks a glance at her, but her usually expressive face is blank but for her confusion. She’s looking at him like everything in banking on his next few words. He sighs and squeezes her hand lightly. “To be happy,” he tells he cautiously. “To be normal, and have friends who don’t break into your apartment bleedin’ all over the place. Or friends you don’t have to stitch up. I’m…it’s hard for me to be okay with that. I don’t….I can’t give you happiness.”

Karen lets out a soft laugh. “Frank…do I seem like I’m unhappy?”

He studies her face—the slow smile stretching across her lips. The subtle, teasing glint in her eyes. The blushing dusted across her cheeks. “…no.”

“Want to know why? Because I got from a perfectly average date, and my window was busted. And I automatically knew it was you, and you were hurt, otherwise you would have shut the window. And then the only thing I could think of was you, and if you were okay. I thought I would walk into you bleeding out in the bathroom, but you were okay. And when I saw that you were okay, I just…I realized that Thomas would _never_ make me feel the way you do.” She meets his shocked stare and smiles. “And in case it isn’t clear enough—you make me happy.”

The first inklings of calm drip down his spine at her words; he reaches out and allows himself to touch her. His knuckles brush over the soft, smooth skin of her cheek. “You make me happy, too,” he admits quietly.

“Plus,” Karen says lightly, reaching up to hold his hand to her cheek, “Thomas is _boring_.”

He cracks a smile, amused. The relief is making him feel high, and her fingers squeezed around his feels something like an anchor, keeping him afloat. “Sounds like I did you a favor then, staining your carpet,” he jokes.

For all of three seconds, he thinks he’s said the wrong thing and pissed her off. Then she laughs and darts towards him, soft lips pressing against his and kissing him soundly. The coffee pot dings in the kitchen but they pay it no mind, wrapping in one another like they’ve been waiting for this. Which really, they have.

When Karen pulls away her eyes are bright and her cheeks are flushed. She grabs his hand and beams.

“Come on, you look like you’ve had enough excitement for the night. We still need to put gauze on that.” He follows her to the bathroom obediently, smiling. His Karen, he thinks, always taking care of him.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
